Why did I weep at breakfast? I said it was about the horror of other people’s actions and beliefs. It was but it also wasn’t. Mostly, no almost entirely it was about mine. All of that wrongness that is in me, that came into me even before my birth, that I carry in my blood, bones and organs. I reject it wholly but it remains. A horrid gift. And nothing will cleanse me of it. Except death. And even then, who knows? Forgive me.
